Fake Fan Fiction ❯ Circle's Edge ❯ Chapter One: At The Turn of the Wheel ( Chapter 1 )

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Circle's Edge

A FAKE Fan Fiction by Aino
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Thanks to Neeks for beta-reading. :)
Disclaimer: The FAKE series and all associated characters are property and copyright of Matou Sanami, BexBoy Comics, Biblos and Tokyopop (even though they did a mostly crappy job with the translation). Amen to that.
Rating: R (graphic violence, strong language, implicit sexual content, mature themes) Please take the rating seriously.
Category/Genre: multi-part, drama, angst, romance, action
Pairings: DrakexJJ, DianaxBerkeley (Diana exists, dammit), DeexRyou
Timeline: After the epilogue, Like, Like, Love. Frickin' huge SPOILERS for the entire series. I mean it. If you have never seen the epilogue, read it here: /autumney. net/ hfi/ scan.htm and this fic will make more sense. In short, Dee and Ryou have been living together for about six months, Diana and Berkeley are dating, and Drake and JJ... well, you'll see.
Note to the Oblivious: "Senpai" is a Japanese term of respect, meaning in this case someone who is one's senior in a profession/capacity. Since it does not translate very well, I am, out of stylistic consideration, sticking to the original Japanese. "Tanuki" a species of animal, the Japanese raccoon-dog -- and the 27th's homicide squad's nickname for Chief Smith.

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This can't be real
My heart is burning
How does it feel
Well, let's say I'm learning
It had to come
The ship has landed
It's time to run
The crew are stranded

We're having the time of our lives
We're lost in a cruel paradise
-- New Order, Someone Like You
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Chapter One: At the Turn of the Wheel

In the confines of the alleyway, the gunshot echoed with deafening force. The bullet plowed into a windowframe barely a foot above Drake's head as he rounded the corner and leveled his gun at the man summarily firing in his direction.

"Freeze!" In the deep shadow between the buildings, Drake had to strain to pick out the dark-clad man from the murky backdrop.

"As if, motherfucker!" The snarl was accompanied by two more shots, and Drake threw himself back against the wall just as they zinged past. Lucky for him the shadows obscured the fleeing man's aim as well.

'Armed and dangerous, hell yeah! Where the heck is JJ?' Scrambling so as not to lose his target, Drake cursed the situation for the umpteenth time. A stifling stakeout of a potential dealers' meeting place had got a surprise twist when the second floor apartment they'd thought empty rang with the sounds of gunfire.

Metal clattered as the man stumbled over some of the debris strewn on the ground. They'd woven through such a mess of nooks and corners that Drake was losing his bearings. The gunshots were a clear enough trail, though, so if JJ had half a brain he shouldn't have much trouble following. Skirting the trash piles, Drake heartily wished JJ would hurry up. He was flying half-blind after a bastard who presumably had just offed his business partner and fled through the fire escape, apparently having heard them coming up the stairs.

A streetlight splashed a cone of illumination onto the side street to which the alley junctioned, but the man had vanished into the encircling gloom. Drake stopped, trying to listen. The late night swam with distant noises like the rising and falling of an immense breast, the incessant pulse of the city itself. However, Drake's immediate surroundings lay in a pool of silence. His grip on the gun tightened.

His pursued might be lying in wait, thinking to get him as he came out to the street. On the other hand, the man had to know it'd be in his best interests to scamper out of the area as quickly as he could. Backup wasn't long in coming -- Drake hoped.

'Come on, dammit.' He did not really know whether he was addressing his target or his partner; at this point he would almost have welcomed the appearance of either.

A rustle of movement alerted him at the last second. The man spun back into view, closer than Drake had thought possible, the butt of his gun swinging towards Drake's head. With a sidestep, Drake caught the man's wrist and wrested down towards himself as if snapping the neck of a bird. Groaning, the man dropped the gun -- and threw his body into a clockwise circle, yielding to Drake's wrist-lock. His left fist connected solidly with Drake's jaw before he could change the angle of the lock; the impact nearly sent Drake reeling.

"Son of a bitch --!" The oath was pure reaction, as the man slipped from his pain-slackened grip. There was blood on this guy's hands, bright as day, but if Drake lost him now...

The unmistakable click of a safety catch sounded over their scuffle. A flashlight zeroed in on Drake's attacker, a lanky fellow in a dark trenchcoat, the whites of his eyes glaring against his tanned skin. Dazzled by the light and the blow in equal measure, Drake fumbled for his gun, which he had dropped as the man punched him.

"Freeze! NYPD!" JJ stepped straight past Drake, gun in one hand, flashlight in the other. "You're under arrest. Put your hands behind your head and take five steps back, into the street. Now!" His fight apparently spent, the man obeyed. By the time both of Drake's eyes again pointed in the same direction, JJ had the man on his stomach on the ground, the barrel of his gun nestled in the back of his neck.

"You all right?" JJ did not take his eyes from their perp, but the subtle softness in his tone held meaning enough.

"There's only one of you now, so that's an improvement," Drake said, letting his breathing even out. "Where the hell's our backup?"

"Caught in the traffic," JJ answered, and Drake could not quite tell if he was joking. "They'll be along. Cuff him, we might have to wait a moment." He brought the man's arms down behind his back -- with a visible effort, Drake noticed.

Drake latched the handcuffs into place. "So -- what happened to the backup? Isn't driving through red lights a fringe benefit of the job?"

"There's been a major accident on Triborough Bridge. Most of the nearby patrols are over there clearing up the situation," JJ explained, taking his weight off of the man on the ground. The man's face had set into a collection of rigid angles, but he had stopped struggling. He was at least partly Hispanic, in his early thirties, and his loose clothes probably hid quite a bit of wiry muscle.

"This oughtta be smooth sailing from here on, at least." Drake flumped back against a wall. "Our perp's right here, the murder weapon's in the alley."

JJ scrutinized him, worry plain on his face. "He knocked you a good one, didn't he?"

"Nah, I'm good." If one ignored the feeling that someone had stuck an egg-beater into his brain and whisked vigorously, that was. As the adrenalin drained from his body, Drake was suddenly exhausted. It had been a draining night, and if there ever were times Drake did not enjoy JJ's company, being stuck in a car with him for hours on end was a resounding winner.

JJ held up a hand, his eyes serious despite the half-playful gesture. "How many fingers?"

"Two." Drake averted his gaze, gave the empty street an expectant look. "Look, I said I'm fine."

His partner made a beckoning motion with his left hand; he was still pointing his gun at their captive with his right. Unable to really pretend he had not noticed, Drake took a step towards JJ. They were both tired. And Drake would've had to be three quarters dead in order to ignore JJ, anyway.

"Your jaw's turning a fetching shade of purple," JJ said quietly. "The skin's not broken, though, and you can talk fine." He drew his fingers, light as promises, over the throbbing spots on Drake's jaw; Drake forgot to flinch as the touch strayed to the underside of his chin, an altogether different kind of tender.

"Must look worse than it feels," Drake commented in a halting voice.

The approaching moan of a siren from the north startled them both. Drake stepped back first, gesticulating towards the alley, with a vague thought of retrieving their perp's gun.

He had to swallow before the words came out properly. "The cavalry's finally here."

"Yeah." JJ gave an amiable shrug -- as if there were neither freshly captured murderer nor his cooling victim, not to mention a teetering pile of paperwork to keep Chief happy, between them and some sorely needed sleep.

While JJ dug out his cell phone and directed the uniforms to their location, Drake leaned on the wall and watched him. JJ's shoulders fell back beneath his light coat; the glint of a dawning smile peered out of the corner of his eye as he pocketed his cell phone and nodded to Drake; and his right hand was still steady on his gun.

Drake had long since learned that JJ was a bundle of paradoxes: that his eternally youthful demeanour belied an efficient, accomplished police officer was but one. For his part, Drake simply accepted each of JJ's quirks as they unfolded, whether it was a tendency to glomp his colleagues in the middle of the station or an unfailing pride in his shooting skills.

However, Drake could hardly deny that his latest revelation concerning his friend and partner of seven years was causing him no end of puzzlement.

"Let's just wrap this up, JJ," he said through a ginger yawn as the patrol car pulled up to them. "Wrap this up and go home."

"Agreed." JJ touched Drake's shoulder briefly, in reassurance. "It's been a long night."

---------------

"Whoa. Sounds like Chief didn't pull that stakeout out of his ass." Dee pushed the styrofoam remains of his lunch onto a corner of his desk. "This time," he added, stretching out like a content cat in the column of sunlight from the open window.

"Well, we're still not positive these guys had anything to do with Chief's drug dealers," Drake said. "The other's a stiff, and Navarro's a damn pain in the ass. There's no doubt he's the killer -- we practically caught him in the act -- but he makes me seriously consider a prybar."

"What part of him were you planning to take it to, Drake?" Ryou cut into the conversation from behind his own desk, in between leafing through a sheaf of photographs. As was wont to happen, their squad, minus Ted and Marty, who would come in on third shift, was again gathered in Ryou and Dee's office. In the mellow August noon, the south-facing window flooding the room with late summer warmth, it was easily one of the homiest spots of the station.

"Maybe just his jaws for a start," Drake muttered into his curry, thinking that something of Dee must have rubbed off on Ryou for Ryou to join in the gallows humor.

"Not the talkative type, huh?" Dee crooked an eyebrow, flicking his lighter.

"That's putting it mildly, Dee-senpai." JJ looked up from his salad. "I think he knew the victim, but we've got nothing out of him."

"Let 'im cool his heels behind the bars for a while," Dee quipped, "that oughtta loosen his tongue."

"It might not, senpai," JJ said. "He's -- stony." He gestured with his hand, searching for a word. "Stoic."

"Trained to resist interrogation, maybe. Sure starting to look like it." Drake abandoned the remains of his Indian cuisine experience on the edge of Ryou's desk. He really was not in the mood to bat around their difficulties with Navarro. "Anyone want coffee?"

Ryou being the only one to mumble a "No, thank you," Drake caught the half-dollar Dee tossed to him and made his way to the first floor.

JJ's and his brash, though timely, arrest of Rob Navarro was turning out to be way more trouble than it was worth. The bastard was not talking and Chief was breathing sulphurous fumes down their necks. Of course, once the autopsy report of the still unidentified victim arrived, they'd have enough evidence to nail Navarro without a confession. It was beyond doubt that the three bullets in the victim would match his gun -- and the blood on his shoes that of the victim. The man had a record, but it was mostly old, small-time offenses.

'And Chief's antsy because there's no connection we can find to the dealers we were s'posed to be watching.' It took a bit of legerdemain to balance the three steaming cups while Drake dug his change from the socket of the vending machine, but he was no stranger to the routine. 'If forensics draws a blank on the victim, too, then it's all been a wild goose chase.'

The office door was ajar as Drake returned; he nudged it open with his foot. Ryou was nowhere to be seen, but Dee had propped his feet on the windowsill, the smoke from his cigarette drifting out into the midday sun. JJ was reaching for the takeaway box on Dee's desk; the rest of them had already been piled on a chair.

"Why's the tanuki shaking you guys so hard over this one, huh? It's a frickin' open-and-shut case." Dee scattered ashes from his cigarette out of the window.

JJ's eyes moved to Dee. "We need to find out if the victim had any connection to a spree of drug-related arrests in southern Bronx. Chief's of the mind there could be a new ring of dealers on the rise." JJ spread his hands, his eyebrows quirking somewhat apologetically. "If you want the details, senpai, you'll have to go to Chief."

Drake deposited the coffee cups on Ryou's desk -- mostly because it had significantly more free space than any other horizontal surface in the room. Dee and JJ made an odd picture at the moment; engaged in conversation instead of an endless game of hug tag. Six months ago, Drake would scarcely have thought that possible.

"Heh. I'm not feeling particularly suicidal today." Dee fished around on his desk for something. "Where're my smokes?"

"Here you go." JJ deftly produced the pack of cigarettes from Dee's half-open desk drawer.

"Thanks, JJ." Dee plucked a cigarette from JJ's hand, a crooked smile lighting up his eyes.

Before Drake really knew what had hit him, he had already loudly cleared his throat. "Coffee's over there, if you're done. And JJ, in case you forgot, Chief wants to know what Forensics has on the body so far."

JJ made a strange face. "I know, Drake. It was you who went to get coffee, not me. Did you run into Chief on the way, or something?" Dee, too, cast a bemused look at Drake over his shoulder.

Drake looked from his partner to Dee and back, but the rapport that had shimmered there between the two had evaporated. If anything, there was a hint of hurt in JJ's expression. Feeling like an idiot and then swiftly suppressing the sentiment, Drake grabbed his coffee. "Whatever. Come get me when you're ready."

He swerved towards the door and strode off. It was only in the safety of his own cluttered desk that he let his head slump, staring dumbly at Navarro's criminal record. Truth to tell, there were quite a few things he'd have thought impossible six months ago. Foremost among them just could be the notion that seeing JJ and Dee chatting together gnawed at him, twisting his innards into a bitter knot.

A lot of things had indeed changed since JJ had kissed him on the roof that one spring afternoon.

Drake seized the nearest file and began reading furiously, as if the litany of Navarro's crimes were a shield against the runaway emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

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"Robert Navarro, New York resident since last February. Convicted of illegal possession of narcotic substances in New Jersey in 1993. Same offense in Chicago in 1995." Drake released the papers to flit over his desk. "The guy's a fucking part-time crook, no connections, no history in assault or murder..."

'I don't know what Chief expects us to find.' He went to the window and, with a forceful yank to make the aging hinges co-operate, allowed the wind into the room. The musty breeze did not do much to clear the stale air, but at least it wouldn't be the same stale air he'd been breathing for too long already.

'You do know what needles you about the man, Parker. He doesn't act like a low-caliber punk. He's not cowed in the least. He's got the balls to sit still and stare at you when you're interrogating him in the name of the law.'

It did not fit. Navarro had committed murder in cold blood and been fully prepared to shoot Drake as he had pursued. The guy they were dealing with was not the wound-faced, twenty-something man who looked at Drake dully out of the criminal record photos.

'Should just ask Chief to hand the bastard over to Dee.'. Dee was ruthless, and crazy, enough. It might take a killer to handle a killer; Drake knew he was not the first person to say that if Dee Latener wasn't a cop, he would be a murderer. It was just one truth about Dee that Drake had come to see and accept years ago. In a precinct such as theirs, it was part of what made Dee a good cop.

'Speaking of Dee --' Drake checked his watch, to realize that he'd left Dee and Ryou's office over an hour ago. Where on earth was his partner? The initial surge of rancor was quenched by worry. They had an urgent case on their hands; JJ would not have wandered off knowing that. Heck, it was JJ who dragged Drake to work on time on Monday mornings and put him back in line when he was slacking.

Drake rummaged through his coat for his cell phone, then stopped. His exit had not been quite diplomatic. JJ wasn't the sort to hold a grudge, but he might well have a chip on his shoulder...

Still, it was not Drake who'd been trying to jump Dee's bones for the entirety of his and JJ's acquiantance. JJ had had that one coming.

Wherever JJ was, the visit to the coroner couldn't wait. Drake stepped to the door -- which was opened even as he turned the knob.

"Going somewhere?" JJ, a hefty brown envelope tucked under his arm, looked up at Drake, his blue eyes very sober.

"Yeah, the Forensics Lab." Drake passed his partner, assuming that JJ would follow him.

"The autopsy report's right here, Drake," JJ said coolly, and Drake stopped on his heels. "I've also got an educated guess as to who the victim is, though we'll have to wait for the DNA results before we can be positive."

"That's good." Feeling inane, Drake re-entered the office after JJ, who had already tossed his coat on the back of his chair and was ripping open the envelope with more force than was probably needed.

Here Drake was, getting a guilt trip over something he hadn't even caused. He had to admit JJ was much better at this nonchalance routine -- and, additionally, frighteningly adept at pulling his strings. JJ began arranging the files on his desk; in spite of himself, Drake recognised the surgical precision of his movements as a sign that his partner was trying to suppress something. At the moment, the insight only nettled him further, for it caused an immediate need to cheer JJ up. Damn his brain and its conflicting urges.

"So, what have you got?" Drake peered at the data, trying to keep his irritation at both the case and JJ from his tone.

JJ put the papers he was holding on the desk. "Time of death 4:15 a.m., Saturday, August -- " JJ paused. "He lived for another hour after Navarro shot him."

"So it seems," Drake said noncommittally. "Right now, I'm more interested in who the hell he is. Does this presumed identity you found have a record?"

"Uh-huh." JJ nodded. "I left those with Chief. I'll pick them up later."

"What is it with the tanuki's unhealthy interest in this dead guy? For all we know, it was just a negotiation gone sour." Drake picked up a photo showing the shattered chest of the victim, a collage of livid reds.

"If this dead guy is, as I presume, Dwight Irving, he's a known middleman for more than one big drug trader." As JJ continued leafing the report, the tendons of his hand seemed to stand out more than his light grasp would have necessitated.

"How'd he get offed by a nobody?" Drake retorted.

"I don't know." JJ sighed. Inhaling deeply, he got out of his chair, walked over to Drake, and gripping his upper arms, guided Drake to the chair. "All right, Parker. Sit down and speak up. What's eating at you?"

'That's a fucking comprehensive question, JJ,' Drake thought, looking askance at his partner. JJ leaned against a corner of his desk, palms pressed on the edge.

"I'm thinking that we're looking at something more than murder here, Drake. Chief's being tight-lipped about it, but he'll spring it on us sooner or later." JJ bent towards Drake, relaxing his matter-of-fact posture. "We've got to focus, and right now neither of us is doing a very good job at it.

"So talk to me." JJ smiled without smiling; his eyes were soft and for a moment faraway.

Because you could not have a discussion without one, really, Drake lit a cigarette before starting. JJ had stolen Drake's annoyance, more with his expression than his words, and he felt somehow light and brittle. Yes, it might be time to say a number of things. Things they had been dancing around for God knew how long.

"What's eating at me? You." Drake sighed. "Other stuff, too, but yeah. You."

JJ tilted his head, but said nothing.

'Fine, make this hard for me. I bet you're enjoying this,' Drake tried mind-talking to his partner.

"And -- where exactly do I stand? In your -- with regard to you, I mean?"

JJ looked baffled. "I haven't made myself clear on that?"

Drake took a slow drag of his cigarette before answering. "Well, yes and no."

Damn, this was awkward. "It's just... the way you are around Dee, for one."

"The way I am?" JJ sounded honestly at a loss. "I don't think I've tackled Dee-senpai in months, Drake."

"You don't have to physically assault people to flirt with them, JJ." Drake's voice rose, and he cursed himself for it. He looked away, inhaling the smoke as if his life hung upon it. "Or maybe you do, but..."

"There are times it works, you know," JJ quipped, but he stopped short as Drake winced. "Okay, you're serious. I'm sorry."

Drake folded his arms. He did not feel like continuing this conversation by another sentence. He'd tossed the ball to JJ, who could now decide what to do with it.

JJ had always been good at playing catch with him. "It bothered you -- that I was being friendly with Dee-senpai," he said, as if weighing the notion. "In one sense, I'm rather happy about that, you know."

"Looked like a bit more than being friendly to me," Drake scoffed. "Now, look here. Either you are interested in someone, or you're not. That's all." He nodded sharply, for emphasis.

To Drake's immense dismay, JJ chortled, not quite covering his mouth in time to muffle it.

"I, you --" JJ's shoulders bobbed gently, "Drake, Drake, I'm sorry." He breathed in and out a few times. "I thought you the last person on the planet to be jealous -- and over Dee-senpai, of all people!"

"Well excuse me, for fuck's sake!" Drake fumbled to light a new cigarette, but his fingers seemed to have turned traitor. "That's rich coming from someone who's been all over me for fucking months now, JJ."

"So you noticed." JJ apparently did not realize he was only digging himself deeper into the hole.

"It's been kind of hard to miss," Drake huffed.

"You fake well, in that case."

"Since when have you been the dense one, JJ?" The situation was becoming so absurd that it distracted Drake from his exasperation. "I let you glomp me, don't I?"

JJ considered that. "Then it's not just because you're easy?"

Drake tried his utmost to kill JJ with his glower. "When did this turn into a discussion on my approachability?"

"I thought that was the heart of the matter, Drake. Sheesh, why are we having this --" JJ halted, then brightened as if something had clicked into place in his mind. "Okay, let me put it this way: would you like me to glomp you?"

Drake knew his expression must have been to die for. "What?"

JJ stood up straight and, without ceremony, sat down sideways into Drake's lap, one heel propped against the edge of the seat, his other leg hanging free. Reflexively, Drake reached an arm behind his back to brace him -- and only then remembered to fix JJ with a look of open-mouthed wonderment.

Shifting to find an agreeable position, JJ returned Drake's look with a puckish one of his own, eyes shining with tender mischief. "You're gaping like a fish out of water, Parker. I'm sure there'd be better uses for that mouth..."

Then JJ's mouth was on Drake's, his hand firm on Drake's chin. Drake's eyes widened; and closed as an impulse of brazen lust momentarily overrode every other feeling. Intoxicatingly aware of JJ's side pressing into his chest, of the stealthy fingers slipping down his side and beneath his shirt, Drake threw sensible thought to the winds and gripped JJ's head, drawing him deeper into the kiss. This was nothing like the inquisitive pecks JJ had stolen from him during the last months. He was starting to dearly regret wearing jeans to work.

Drake's breath came in hitches as he pulled away, gently, after a while. Fuck, but he did need a moment, to think. "Whoa, JJ. Huh. Whoa."

"Why do I find that flattering?" JJ grinned at his own rhetorical question, and Drake smiled helplessly in response. His partner looked criminally unruffled, although there was a breathy undercurrent to his voice.

"You smug bastard. You planned this, didn't you?"

"If there was an opening, yes. Seize the day, and all," JJ said, his left hand playing with Drake's hair, a gesture somehow so natural that it never occurred to Drake to comment upon it. Drake reclined against the back of the chair, unable to stop smiling. He could not recall when he'd last felt this alive, every nerve in his body awake and alert. If only for good measure, he bent JJ's head down into another kiss.

"I hate to say this --" JJ drew back enough to graze Drake's lower lip with his teeth "-- but maybe we should put this off for a bit?"

"Yeah -- the report." Drake returned to earth. It'd been too damn long since he had kissed anybody, and he was liking the feel of JJ in his lap maybe a little too much, considering they were in the middle of work. "The report, JJ. Gory photos of a dead guy. Dates and causes and implements of death."

"You're thinking aloud," JJ said softly, and got to his feet with obvious reluctance.

"I'm trying." 'We've got to go through the report. Concentrate.' Drake vacated the chair and circled to the other side of the desk. He had to put some space between them or he could not be responsible for his actions.

"I'm going to get the rest of the records from Chief." JJ took a purposeful step towards the door, but his gaze lingered on Drake.

Drake made a shooing motion with his hand, but smiled as he did so. "Go on. We can't exactly work with holes the size of Manhattan in our data. I'll start on these." Drake poked at the neglected autopsy files. "Don't be too long."

With a wave of his hand, JJ stepped into the hallway. Drake watched him go, the warmth settling over him already tinted with restlessness. Things between them had not been set straight -- quite the opposite, in fact -- but at least the nature of the tension had changed into a more positive direction.

'May you live in interesting times, huh?' Drake sat down again, feeling very much like some greater entity was raising his glass at him and laughing like hell into his beard.

---------------

"All passengers on United Airlines flight 837 to New York, please proceed to gate 25 --"

Maneuvering out of the crammed escalators, the wheels of her smart flight suitcase whirring against the floor, Diana walked as fast as she could without breaking into a run. She fixed her eyes on the sign pointing to her departure gate. Once on the plane, she could drop. Once on the plane, she could let herself wonder.

Once at the JFK Airport, she would finally find out.

There was already a flock of people at the gate, chattering, yawning discreetly, checking their tickets for the last time before handing them to the primly smiling airport official. Diana hung back, sitting down in a vacant seat at the edge of the waiting area with less than her usual grace. The roar of the airplanes seeped dim through the lofty windows, and the signal lights of the runways spattered the darkness outside.

It was even later in New York, but she dialed the number anyway.

She listened to the phone ring for long seconds before it was picked up.

"Dina?" The familiar voice, now heavy with sleep, was a balm on her nerves. She drew a breath as he continued. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Diana almost chuckled. "I'm coming to New York, Berk. On the next flight from San Francisco."

"To JFK? When will you be here?" She heard a shifting of fabric as he got up. The clock at the top of the departures display screen spelled out the time: 11:36 p.m. It was half past two on the East Coast.

"You don't need to pick me up. I'm coming on business, I've got it covered."

"I didn't think this was a pleasure call," Berkeley said, clearly somewhat amused. "I have to admit I am slightly curious as to the reason."

Peeking at the still thronged gate, Diana replied, "Makes you wonder, doesn't it? On Wednesday, I was on to a delightful ring of Asian hi-tech weapon smugglers. Two days later I'm off to New York. I'll get a full briefing once I'm there."

"Busy as always, I see." He gave a short laugh, from deep in his throat. It was a rare sound, and oh, but she loved hearing it. In her opinion, he still laughed far too seldom, albeit she knew that she was privileged to share more and more of his joys these days. "And do you think you could squeeze a moment for me into your schedule, Agent Spacey?"

"Possibly." Now Diana had to smile, even if he could not see her. "I don't know how long the briefing will take, but the first second I'm free..."

"Call me, then. Even if you'll wake me up a second time," he said, with the familiar, rasping warmth that never failed to induce a rush of feeling, however on edge she might be. She had needed this. She missed him so much.

"I will," she half whispered, "promise. Good night."

"Good night, Dina."

Shutting off the cell phone, she collected her bags, stepped on her misgivings as hard as she could, and headed off. She just could not shake the feeling that this would not be a happy trip.

"All passengers on United Airlines flight 837 to New York, please proceed immediately to gate 25 --"

---------------

After a few minutes of coaxing and shaking, Ryou had to stifle an urge to use the old water-in-the-ear Army trick on his lover. Dee had tangled himself as deep into the bedsheets as humanly possible, and Ryou's wakening attempts were met only by bleary variants of "'S way early. Don' wake me yet."

"Mind that I won't be responsible for Chief chewing you out," Ryou warned, ineffectually, before retreating to the shower.

Ryou went through his morning routines with a kind of practised languor, not bothering to go back to the bedroom. Dee could wrangle and whine until the absolute last minute if he felt like it, and before that it tended to be a waste of breath trying to get him into a vertical position. Having finished breakfast, Ryou poured himself another mug of coffee and went into the hallway, pondering that the apartment seemed bigger now that Bicky was gone. Bicky would start in his new college in two weeks, but since his dorm room had been available well in advance, they had decided that moving in early would give him some time to adjust before school began.

It had been sometimes uneasy going over the summer, with Dee and Bicky under the same roof all the time. Even as Ryou missed the boy, he could appreciate the calm that had fallen in his wake. The curtains were open, letting the blue twilight wrap the living room and hallway in filmy shadows for a moment before dawn lifted them away. One of the most pleasant aspects of rising early, Ryou thought, was the soft silence just before others began waking, the last breath of the ending night.

Padding footfalls from the bedroom told Ryou that Dee had given up pretending to sleep. He watched the lightening sky until the shower stopped running, and returned to the kitchen. He filled Dee's coffee mug, noting with satisfaction that they still had a good forty minutes left.

"Morning, partner." Dee smiled lop-sidedly from the doorway, his damp dark hair sticking out in every direction, a towel tied at his hips, and looking downright ravishable. With some regret, Ryou concluded that half an hour would probably not be enough.

"Morning." Ryou offered Dee the mug, on the side of which was written the legend "Whenever I'm Naked, Strange Things Happen to Me." It had been a housewarming gift from Ted, and Dee had declared it his private property right away. Needless to say, Bicky was not let within five feet of that mug.

"Thanks. You're a savior." Accepting the coffee, Dee kissed Ryou gently, drowsiness still softening his bearing.

"Any time." Ryou could not help smiling. "You're actually up on time. What's the occasion?"

"Missed you." Dee nuzzled his face into Ryou's neck, and Ryou craned his head appreciatively when he felt a warm tongue flick against his skin. Either Dee had read his mind, or then -- more likely -- he was just being Dee.

"Mmm. I have to warn you, we're not quite that early."

"You sure?" Dee was nibbling an arched trail towards the nape of Ryou's neck, his free hand pulling Ryou closer.

With an exertion of willpower, Ryou extracted himself from Dee. "I'm sure. But it is Saturday, which means..."

Dee relented, but not without stealing one more lingering kiss. "Tell me about it, lover. Forty hours without a single other soul..."

"You'll have to consent to clothes for a few hours before that, I'm afraid. We'll get back to the strange things later -- lover." Ryou gave Dee a small push in the direction of the breakfast.

"Is that a promise?"

---------------

Entering the fourth floor hallway, Dee and Ryou were greeted by the sight of the Chief standing in front of their office. The stairs were a bustle of people as the shift was changing; Ryou ducked past a yawning beat cop and saluted.

"Good morning, sir. Any word on the Woodward case yet?"

"Morning, Randy. Dee, are my eyes failing, or are you in time for the morning shift?"

"You wound me, Chief, you do." Dee grinned as he spoke.

"Was something the matter, sir?" Ryou asked as he unlocked the door. It was not every morning you found the captain waiting at your doorstep, so to speak. Besides, Chief had an air Ryou could only describe as concerned.

They entered the office, Dee switching on the lights on his way; Chief came in on their heels and shut the door. Ryou glanced at their captain. "Sir?"

"Randy. Dee." Chief scratched at his bearded chin with his thumb. "You do remember the FBI's drug bust this spring? When Bennett was arrested?"

Ryou exchanged a look with Dee, a look that carried many meanings. Neither of them would -- or could -- forget: they had been protecting Alicia Grant, wife to Leo Grant, the high-ranked mafioso responsible for the murder of Ryou's parents. She had been a key witness against the head of another criminal organization, Bennett, but in the end had retreated from testifying. Remembering the next part, Ryou wished he could have touched Dee's hand, laid on the edge of Ryou's desk, but refrained. Alicia, as Leo had refused to leave the family for her sake, had shot her husband, and honouring his dying wish, Ryou and Dee had concealed that Alicia had had any part in his death at all. It was not a series of events Ryou enjoyed reminiscing.

"Yes, sir. What of it?" Dee spoke up, cutting Ryou's musing. Their final report of the case had contained more than its fair share of conscious cover-ups, and in addition to his emotional unease, Ryou had a certain self-preservative aversion to discussing the minutiae of the case.

"I'll cut to the chase," Chief said, with his customary gruffness. "The drug traders we've been on to are turning out to have quite a few friends in high places. From the reports we're getting, despite that Bruno" -- Alicia's father, Ryou connected the name in his mind -- "died three months ago, the name of Grant has been slipping into the conversation."

Ryou held his breath, his chest constricting. He could not help it. Dee was listening gravely; Ryou more sensed than saw how his back muscles stiffened.

"And this concerns us how? Bruno's dead, and so is Leo. The Grant Mafia is a headless corpse," Dee interjected pithily.

Chief ignored Dee's interruption, an offense usually punishable by a few choice epithets in the least. "Someone doesn't think so. FBI's coming to town, and if I were you two, I would keep a low profile while they poke around."

"Sir?" Ryou found his voice, hoarse though it was. Chief could not be implying what Ryou had to assume he was implying, but still Ryou's blood ran cold. They had explained Leo's death away as an act of vengeance from Bennett's part, for to all appearances, Leo had murdered Bennett's son a few days earlier. As far as Ryou knew, only three people knew the true state of affairs: that Leo and Bennett's son had both been killed by the same person.

"I've already told you more than I should have, Randy." Chief's expression grew heavy. "Just stay sharp, boys -- and Dee, this is no time for your routine idiocies, you hear me?" He clapped Dee on the shoulder as Dee nodded, unusually docilely, and left the room without another word.

Ryou realized that he had been staring mutely at the closed door only when Dee gripped his shoulder. "Ryou?"

He strained to forcibly center himself. "It's-it's probably nothing. Just a few holdovers of the old organization. Nothing to worry about." Ryou made a weak grab for the unfinished report from yesterday.

Dee drew Ryou back against him and buried his face into Ryou's shoulder, the warmth of his body speaking his comfort and reassurance. Ryou's head fell back onto Dee's shoulder, and his free hand clasped Dee's. "Nothing to worry about, Ryou." Dee barely whispered the words, but they made Ryou slacken against him for a moment, borrowing strength and faith when his own waned.

They separated in silence; as Ryou turned on his computer and began making the last corrections to the report, Dee moved his paperwork to the other side of Ryou's desk. The nearness kept the ghosts a little further away.

---------------

Let it be said at this point that I am not an expert on police procedure (and, also, I will undoubtedly apply artistic licence for the sake of the story). Feel free to point out any errors. :) Feedback is greatly appreciated.

Originally published March 10, 2005
First draft March 3, 2005
Revised March 5, 2005
Aino
ricepaperdreams @ yahoo. co. uk
groups. yahoo. com/ group/ ainofics/

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